


The Murder Basement, And Life Afterward

by Not_You



Series: Will Graham And The Accidental Harem [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beverly Katz is the Best, Beverly Lives, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Investigations, Multi, Past Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Polyamory Negotiations, Relationship Negotiation, Someone Helps Will Graham, adults using their words, by adult-onset Beverly Katz, hannibal dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Beverly creeps on down to Hannibal's murder basement and comes out on top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know those warnings make no sense, but what the hell do you call it when the eponymous character is killed as part of making everything okay?

Beverly can't bear the uncertainty anymore. Either Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, or Will is, and not knowing the truth is a horrible, sick feeling. Even in her darkest hours, Beverly can't believe that Will had killed anyone while in his right mind. Someone like Garrett Jacob Hobbs, sure. In some ways that's almost more like putting down a mad dog than killing a man. The cruel and mocking tableaux of the Ripper seem so alien to Will that it tears Beverly apart all the more. Either her friend is in jail for horrific crimes he didn't commit, or has somehow drifted to the outer limits of human madness without her noticing.

This agony is why Beverly is prowling around Hannibal's professional-grade kitchen by cover of darkness. She opens the cupboards and pokes around the fridge, finding nothing but the beautiful groceries anyone of his wealth and inclinations would have. The locked door to the room beyond is much more promising. It's a good lock, but Beverly is good at picking locks, and soon she's in a much more secretive larder, just the kind of place a cannibal might keep the good stuff.

“Gotcha,” she murmurs, turning to the table and knocking over a small carafe of red wine that looks like blood in the low light. She scrambles to replace it, and then watches as the spilled drops outline one tiny part of a hidden trapdoor. Beverly knows she's being stupid, but she has to know. The stairs are the same kind that lead into her grandmother's root cellar, nearly a ladder, and she creeps down carefully, gun and flashlight at the ready. She really wishes someone else believed in Will, that she could have a partner in crime. Now she has to creep through this incredibly spooky secret basement on her own, more certain with every step that she's going to find something horrible.

Once things actually start happening, it's all very fast. She finds the plastic curtain to the little alcove where a human torso is hanging like a pig carcass, switches on the lights, and then feels someone behind her. She whips around and sees Hannibal in the half a second before he slams the light switch down again, plunging him into blackness. She takes two blind shots at him and then he's on her, lifting her slightly off her feet and wrapping one arm around her neck in something that's practically a murderous cuddle. She nearly drops her gun and then has to fight his larger, stronger hand for control of it with no air and hardly any blood flow to her head, the darkness swimming with greyish ripples of phantom light as her own heartbeat fills her ears. 

She doesn't actually remember shooting him. Jimmy has to tell her about it later, that she got him twice in the gut and once through the chest and into the head. The thing Beverly does remember is blinking and being on her knees in the solid dark, with no sound but her own hoarse breathing. She had fumbled around until she had had a hand on her phone, locating Hannibal's body with the flashlight function, and then dialing 911 before losing consciousness again.

When Beverly wakes up for real, she's in a hospital bed, but mostly feels okay. She's not all that surprised to see her mother, even if she does live two states away. As soon as she realizes that Beverly is awake, she gives her a glass of water and then gets started on the lecture. That it was very stupid to go to that crazy man's house all alone, and what would Grandma have said if he had eaten Beverly and not left them anything to bury, and that being an idiot is no example to set for the younger children. At this point she bursts into tears and hugs Beverly at last, muttering further rebukes in Korean. Beverly hugs her just as tightly, feeling inexpressibly guilty for making her poor bony little bird of a mother worry so much. Of course she starts crying, too, and they don't stop for quite a while.

Jimmy, bless his heart, waits until after they have stopped and put their faces back on to poke his head into the room. He's carrying a potted daffodil and Beverly has never been so glad to see him. He greets them both prettily, and sits down at the other side of the bed.

“So. We were wrong about everything and the daffodil is only the beginning. Z and I are your slaves for the rest of our natural lives.”

Beverly rolls her eyes. “I was the idiot who didn't even give you a chance to not believe me. How's Will?”

“Pardoned. Alana has been visiting him and the dogs a lot, and I brought him a vegetarian casserole, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, and my groveling apologies. He was really nice about it, in a wrung-out kind of way.”

Beverly's heart feels like it's twisting in her chest for a moment. She remembers how shattered and miserable Will had been, and is suddenly desperate to see him, to examine the damage for herself. She tries to smile. “Well, give him time. And tell him not to be a stranger....Try not to let those those two conflict,” she adds, and Jimmy laughs.

“I'll do what I can, but he's been pretty frantic about you.”

Beverly sees just how frantic within the hour. Jimmy only stays for about fifteen minutes, like a gentleman, and about twenty minutes after that, Beverly finally gets Mom to go the hell home and get some rest. She's just about to doze off again, herself, when a shadow in the doorway wakes her up again, nerves still jangled from nearly being murdered by a friendly work acquaintance. She can't even begin to imagine how Will feels, and gives him her best smile when he comes slinking in.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet and rough, and sits down in her mother's vacated chair without another word, just staring at her with bruised blue eyes.

“Hey,” Beverly says, once it's clear that he'll be no help. “What'd I miss?”

“I am so fucking sorry,” Will says, his voice cracking.

Beverly snorts. “For what? Being innocent? I got myself into that mess, and from where I'm sitting, it worked out for the best.”

“I nearly got you killed.” He looks like he's about to fucking cry, and that's more than Beverly can take right now. She reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly.

“ _I_ nearly got me killed, and almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Okay?”

“Okay,” Will whispers, lacing their fingers together and wrapping his other hand over the back of hers. He's got big hands for the rest of him, and they're very warm. Beverly sits there for a long moment just feeling Will, near and free and healthy.

“You know,” she says at last, “this might not be the best time, but...I thought I knew how I felt about you.”

“And now you don't?” He's looking at her like she's about to decide his fate, and suddenly all she wants is to kiss him. It's far from the first time the thought has crossed her mind, but she hasn't thought much about hospital beds. The railing on that side is down, though, so when she pulls him closer, there's nothing in his way. Beverly is expecting him to be more tentative than he is. There has always been a weird, wounded, awkward grace to Will that has a lot to do with not knowing how to reach out, but now that Beverly has done the reaching, Will sighs and sways into her, trusting and hungry and still so gentle. He props himself up with one hand on the mattress, the other sliding into Beverly's hair to cradle her head as he sighs just a little. Will takes his time about kissing her, slow and sweet and thorough. 

He rests his forehead against hers when they break for breath. “Fuck,” he whispers, hoarse with emotion.

“Sure, when I'm cleared for it,” Beverly says, and he laughs, the sound a little cracked. He looks completely blown away, with a little edge of anxiety that makes Beverly feel like a therapy animal as he sits there and strokes her hair for a long moment.

“I... I'm kind of confused,” Will admits, even as he kisses the corner of her mouth again, like he just can't help himself. Beverly shivers and gently tugs his hair, kissing him properly as he sags against her and makes a shattered little noise in his throat that she files away for later. 

“Confused about what?” Beverly asks, giving him a little bite on the lower lip to remember her by before letting go of his hair.

Will sighs, kissing her cheek and sitting up again reluctantly. “So. Right when it went to hell, when I was hallucinating a goddamn trapped animal in my chimney, I kissed Alana Bloom and she kissed me back before telling me that anything of the kind was a bad idea and leaving. Now she's practically living at my house and we're here like this and I don't know where anyone stands, least of all me.” 

He looks so helpless that Beverly reaches out for him again. “Just a hug this time,” she says. “You look like you need one.”

“I really fucking do,” Will says, leaning into her arms and laughing in that same, frayed-sounding way. Beverly hushes him and just holds him for long enough that a nurse is probably going to walk in. Will seems to be thinking the same thing when he sits up and takes a wary look around. 

“I think we're alone now,” Beverly says, deadpan. “There doesn't seem to be anyone around.”

Will snorts quietly. “The beeping of your heart monitor is the only sound?”

“For now.” She yawns, irritated with her body for being tired already, and then doubly so for the concerned and guilty look on Will's face. “Will. I'll be fine.” A nurse comes in then, so all she says is, “Talk to Alana and get back to me, okay?”

Will takes his cue and gives her a fairly convincing smile. “I will. Get some rest.”

Beverly doesn't have much choice about that. She's covered in bruises from struggling and falling, and as the doctor explains, being strangled nearly to death tends to leave a person weak and overwrought for a bit, to say nothing of the possibility of lingering cardiac arrhythmia. Beverly can look forward to another night of observation before being released, provided her heart stays as regular as it has been. For now she gets to have a nap after that strenuous night's sleep. It would be really irritating, if she had the energy to be irritated.


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly dreams of following a black-coated stag across a stone bridge, the clopping of the beast's hooves on the road turning into the sound of Alana Bloom's heels on the linoleum as she comes into the room. They haven't talked much, but Beverly likes her. She's a soothing presence, and isn't afraid to call Jack on his shit.

“Morning,” she says, yawning. “You here to check on my mental state?”

“Pretty much,” Alana says, with a sad smile. “Besides, I can't help but feel responsible.”

Beverly rolls her eyes. “First Will and now you. I can't believe that my mom has a more balanced view of the situation.”

“What is her view?” Alana asks, settling into the chair beside the bed.

“That I was stupid to go to that crazy man's house without backup and nearly get myself turned into bulgogi, and she's right.” She reaches out and takes Alana's hand. “Of course, he wasn't her silver fox of a mentor. Are you okay?”

“No,” Alana says, and then laughs, sounding as awful and defeated as Will had in prison.

“I feel pretty fucked up and I just worked with the guy for a while. I can't even imagine how it is for you.”

Alana groans, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Sorry, I thought I had myself under control.”

“Don't be sorry for being human,” Beverly says, still holding her hand. Alana seems to note this fact at the same time, and gives Beverly an odd, shy look. Beverly laces their fingers together, and Alana squeezes gently.

“Personally and professionally devastating as this has been, I'm not the one in the hospital.”

“Not for long,” Beverly says, yawning. “What time is it, anyway?”

It's about time for dinner, and Beverly ends up in a wheelchair more for insurance than exhaustion reasons, letting Alana trundle her down to the cafeteria. There has always been something a little limp-like about the way she walks in heels, but she gets a good amount of power behind the chair and clips along at a reasonable pace. A few steps down the hall the fact of Hannibal having been Alana's... boyfriend? Friend with benefits? truly sinks in. He was definitely her something, and Beverly totally killed him. Awkward.

“So, what are our options?” Alana says, all brisk and determined to keep it together. Beverly recognizes the tone, having used it more than enough in her own life.

“What we need is a drink,” Beverly says, “but pizza is usually safe in a cafeteria, and I could use something greasy.”

Alana laughs. “Ugh, don't encourage me, I've been eating so badly.”

Food is probably going to be a touchy subject with all of them for quite some time, and Beverly isn't surprised by Alana caving in on the pizza issue, or by her getting plain cheese. Beverly does the same, because the old saw about how pepperoni can be made of anything is now informed by the queasy knowledge that anything includes anyone. It's actually kind of comforting that the pizza is the usual institutional crap, with crust like cardboard and the tell-tale cornmeal on the bottom. It's soggy and tough and utterly unlike anything the good doctor Lecter would have prepared, and that makes it soothing.

Since she's alive and Alana's... something is not, Beverly feels that she should let Alana guide the conversation, and she keeps it light, just going over the basics. She seems genuinely interested in hearing about all the Katz siblings, and groans in sympathy when Beverly warms to the subject of grandmas and aunties who won't stop asking when you're getting married.

“Jewish family's the same way, I swear,” she says, tearing off a particularly wretched portion of the crust of her second slice.

“In high school I got my gay friend Jason Ling to pretend to date me. That way I could screw my worthless stoner boyfriend in the back of his van and Jason could screw the captain of the rival football team and it all worked out for everybody.”

“Sounds pretty ingenious.”

“It was, but we went to different colleges and I didn't want to have to marry the poor guy.”

“Fair enough.” Her smile suddenly wobbles, and she stares down at her plate.

“...Uh. I'm sorry I killed your... whatever Hannibal was.”

“I think 'friend,' will do. And I guess I don't miss him, do I? I miss a projection.”

“Yeah, the projection of the guy who mentored you and fed you and was there for you when you thought Will had totally lost it.”

“I hurt Will so much,” she groans, burying her face in her forearms and making Beverly wish that they were in a bar, with nice, soothing shadows and plenty of available alcohol. A woman cannot be expected to bear this kind of thing on mere apple juice.

“Hey, it's not like we knew! I mean...” she pauses, unsure if bringing this up will make it worse or not, “He puked up Abigail's ear, for fuck's sake! Hannibal framed him, and he did a fucking good job of it.”

“All aided and abetted by me,” Alana says, muffled. “Such a good shrink that I don't even know a killer when I've got his dick in my mouth.”

“Man, if you're being vulgar you must feel bad,” Beverly says, and strokes Alana's hair.

“I do.” She looks up, eyes full of tears. “Beverly, none of us could help suspecting him, but you tried! You put your life on the line to know the truth, and all I did was make sympathetic noises and sleep with the monster.”

“Alana, no,” Beverly says, consumed by tenderness for her and wanting to shield her from the harsh fluorescent lights. At least this is a hospital, so open weeping in the cafeteria isn't exactly odd. “Honey, you couldn't know. He had given you so many reasons to trust him. You knew him before any of us, it's only natural.”

“I still feel like a failure,” Alana whispers, and then sighs. She blinks it back and takes a deep breath, sitting up and scrubbing at her eyes with paper napkins, smearing them with mascara but managing to avoid giving herself total raccoon eyes. “God. I meant to... I think I meant to ask you to take care of Will for me.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Beverly asks, only more confused when it makes Alana laugh for so long that she starts to cry again.

“Fuck this chair,” Beverly mutters, and gets up to sit on the bench beside Alana. She doesn't even feel all that wobbly anymore, and it's good to be able to just put her arm around the poor thing. She feels stupid enough for being a cop and not noticing the killer at her elbow, she can't imagine how bad Alana must feel. She holds Alana for a while, not saying anything, and smiles at her when she finally looks up again. “Okay?”

“I will be, I think,” she says, and returns their trays before beginning the arduous and unnecessary task of pushing Beverly back toward the elevator.

The trip back to Beverly's room passes in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. They're just both exhausted and have a lot to think about. A lot of other people on the floor are already trying to sleep, anyway. At least Beverly doesn't actually need the wheelchair, and can get herself up and out of it and back into bed without calling a nurse. Alana hovers anyway, like Beverly might just collapse, and tucks the blanket back over her like she's a little kid. It's soothing, and Beverly smiles up at her.

“Comfortable?” Alana says softly, and Beverly feels like she's the one with a strangely shy look on her face this time.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” she says, putting her hand over Beverly's.

“...What did you mean before, about Will?”

She sighs, and sits in the chair, still holding Beverly's hand. “I... He told me about visiting you earlier.” She smiles miserably. “And that you now know about yet another of my failings as a psychiatrist.”

Beverly snorts. “Please. He wasn't your patient.”

Alana's smile is painful. “He wasn't.”

“How was it, as kisses go?” The image is certainly a lovely one. Will and Alana are both beautiful, and she's probably at least as good a kisser, gentle and sweet as she is. 

“....Really great,” Alana whispers, voice cracking a little. She bows her head, the sweep of her hair hiding her face. Beverly laces their fingers together and Alana squeezes tightly. “I want Will, and I want him to be happy, and I'm pretty sure I can't do both of those at once.”

“So you're going to be noble and self-sacrificing and tell me to take good care of him?”

“Y-you do seem to do a better job,” Alana whimpers, and then starts to cry quietly, clinging to Beverly's hand, face still hidden by her hair. Beverly can't think of anything to do beyond hushing her and pulling her into a hug. Alana keeps crying, but seems a little eased by the contact, and lets Beverly rub her back and make soothing noises at her until she can sniffle to a stop. It's a bit of a wrench when she sits up and starts trying to put herself back together.

“Okay?” Beverly asks, and Alana gives her a watery smile.

“Okay.” She sighs, and runs her fingers through her hair, settling it back into place. “Thank you.”

“Beautiful women are welcome to cry on me at any time,” Beverly says. “My mom also raised me to share.”

Alana stares at her for a long moment. “...Seriously?”

Beverly shrugs. It's not as if it isn't odd or couldn't blow up in their faces, but all three of them have been through too much anguish lately for her to want still more of it predicated entirely on what _might_ happen. “I don't know you well enough to love you,” she says, “but I feel like I could. If you and Will want to be together, I want you together. I just want in, if that's possible.”

“I... I'll have to talk to him again,” Alana says, blushing. Beverly grins at her and she laughs, brushing a lock of hair off of Beverly's forehead. “Either way, I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“So that's what they're calling it these days,” Beverly says, and actually winks at Alana, making her laugh. The sound is bright and silvery and surprising in the filtered hospital air, and Beverly smiles before yawning again. “Any minute now a nurse is going to make you clear out, so we should add me to your contacts first.”

Her words prove prophetic the moment they leave her mouth, the sharp-eyed little black nurse who had checked Beverly's eyes after she woke up coming in to shoo Alana away and to give Beverly her pills. They're just mild painkillers for her various cuts and bruises. She doesn't get anything really tasty, though there is the hope of anxiolytics to take home, because as she tries to sleep, the whole 'overwrought' portion comes back to bite her in the ass. Breathing deeply and counting backward from one hundred help a little, but it's picturing Will and Alana curled up together, warm and clean and safe from any more of Hannibal's machinations, that allows her to sleep.


End file.
